Unspun

by Ruth Nickle

  “Bertram,” she began, but the knocking of the servant returning with my water interrupted her.

  She took the pitcher from the servant at the door and dismissed him with a wave. She set it on the sideboard, and I moved to refill my perpetually empty cup. She laid a hand on my shoulder, and an oppressive warmth radiated down my arm. I brushed her away, certain she would leave burn marks with her fingertips. The irrationality of it all only fueled my frustrations.

  “Bertram, this can’t go on,” she said.

  Every syllable seared itself onto my ears.

  “You must let me summon a physician, or at least the apothecary,” she insisted for the thousandth time.

  “I’m not ill.”

  “You cannot think you are well.”

  “What would you know of it? You can’t even gaze on the suffering of others.”

  She recoiled as though struck.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s just this infernal heat.”

  She didn’t reply. She turned with a haughty air, strode to the window, and pulled back the draperies. The low clouds of a spring storm hung in the air. She opened the window, and the wind whipped at the open pages of a book. But I felt no cool relief.

  “It is freezing outside, Bertram. We haven’t had a full day of sun since we thought you lost.”

  “What is this witchcraft?” Indeed, I could see the clouds and the stirrings of the winds, but they could not penetrate the fire of the air around me. “No, this is some kind of illusion.”

  “It is you who are under an illusion,” she said, taking a step closer. “No one feels the fire you speak of. No one here is athirst like you.”

  “No one spoke up at your wedding either,” I snapped. I hadn’t been thinking of it, but the words came from somewhere deep within.

  “Bertram, you aren’t making sense.”

  “You let her die, my grandmother—” I had never even thought of Queen Marwyn as anything other than a villainous wretch, but she was family I had never known.

  “She tried to kill me—”

  “And you tortured her!” Snow drew back a step, as though I’d laid hands on her. “You sat by while the people tormented her to her death. How can you say I am the one who does not see when you could not even raise your eyes to the spectacle of your own mother’s demise?”

  Steam came with each panting breath as I struggled to master myself. I could see the damage each barbed word did as I spoke them.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks. She went to the cabinet, the one that held the royal jewels and a few of her favorite keepsakes. She removed the key she kept on a chain round her neck, and unlocked it. When she returned she held a mirror.

  “That was Grandmother’s.” I heard the condemnation in my voice and lowered the accusatory finger I hadn’t meant to raise.

  “And if you ask it, it will show you the truth of what happened that night.”

  “I know the truth,” I spat. “Everyone knows it. Ross—”

  “Your father,” she said.

  “No. I won’t be that kind of tyrant.” I took the mirror and flung it away. Though it hit the ground with a solid clang, it did not shatter. I fled to the safety of the only place I knew that would soothe my soul.

  * * *

  “Why do you return?”

  I did not answer. Rather I dove into the depths of the pool that fed the stream of miracles. Passing the days-old carcass of my horse meant nothing to me as I sought the final resting place of my grandmother. The sweet, crisp water and her loving smile were my only thoughts. When I surfaced, she stood before me, just as she had before. Not like the paintings I had seen, austere and distant, but comforting and inviting. Her form, the picture of what she must have been as a young woman, stood with bare feet atop the pool’s surface.

  “Bertram, why are you here? Your coronation is so near, you must prepare,” she said with all the tender feeling of a doting grandparent.

  I heaved myself up to the edge and sat with my feet in the blessed waters.

  “This place is good for me. I cannot think when I am away. This heat—”

  “The heat will pass after you become king,” she assured me. “Until then you must bear it the best you can.”

  She came and sat, her feet, hidden in a cloud of mist, never moving beyond the water’s surface.

  A question still lingered. One I had not dared ask the first time she had beckoned to me, one that I could not ask my mother, one I was not sure even my tutors would have an answer for.

  “Why did you try to kill her?”

  Her eyes became frosty.

  “Some have said I was jealous of her beauty or the doting favor my husband showed her, but those are the lies of the blind. I would be a monster if such were true.” My grandmother extended a leg as though to tap the water. The pool rippled until it showed her sitting by my grandfather, another family member I knew only from portraits and tales. A little girl came bounding up to him and alighted on his lap. He smiled. So did my grandmother’s image. She seemed genuinely pleased to see her daughter so happy. With another flick of her foot the image was gone. “I knew that she was dangerous.”

  “How?” I splashed a handful of water over my neck, the relief running down my back.

  “She had power over people. She could always make any servant obey her, even to do terrible things like killing a favorite laying hen of mine for dinner or hiding others’ belongings. She often laughed at the pain and surprise of others. The guests at her wedding who drove me out did it because they were under her sway. Perhaps she has learned not to be so flagrant, but no one should have that kind of control. She is a danger to you and your people.”

  “Then why would she let me take the throne?”

  “Because all good must end. Just as she could never ensnare me, so she can never quite enchant you. The people are prosperous now, but the wheel of all fortunes is ever turning, and soon they will face hardships of war and famine and disease. She wants to place the burdens of kingship on you so that you will turn to her of your own will. She can rule through you, and if anything besets the kingdom she can blame your lack of judgment and experience.”

  A ray of sun glittered on the pool’s surface, playing tricks with the water, making a mire of its crystal purity. Marwyn stood and the light blinked out, shuttered by the canopy of green around us.

  “She cannot stand to think that anyone might not adore her.” A bitterness touched the edges of her voice. It suffused the taste of the water dripping from my hair and down my face.

  I thought of how my mother had begun to cry when I laid the accusation of her indifference before her. It made sense that the people would be only too happy to blame the soft, young king when times grew hard. If I said it was her guidance that brought us there, they would turn on me.

  “How do I stop it?” I wondered aloud.

  “Take this with you.” My grandmother waved a hand, and water rose before her. The exterior shone, and when it rested in her hand it was contained in a crystalline flask. “It will keep your vision clear and the torment at bay. When the time comes, you will know what to do.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The reality of the grim scene at Ross and Snow’s wedding is recorded well, by many hands. But what is known by few is that while the revels continued, Snow slipped away, into the woods. She followed the trail of melted snow, the dragged footfalls, and eventually the muddy gouges of a figure crawling up a narrow deer track, until she came to where Queen Marwyn, now a disheveled wreck, lay moaning.

  Snow fell to her knees, trying to remove the shoes and begging her mother’s forgiveness, but the flesh had melted to the metal. Marwyn kicked her away, screaming her vengeance anew. She drew all her power around her and with her last living breaths pronounced this curse:

  Fair as Snow your children may be

  But poison bi
tter shall yet flow free.

  As keys the binding locks unhinge

  So winter’s death brings spring’s revenge.

  Marwyn then transformed herself into a pillar of ice with a darkness at its heart. Snow knew, staring at her reflection in the ice, that not only would there be no forgiveness for holding her silence, but she was still not safe. As each new year passed, she dreaded the coming of the spring, never certain if this time she would face the fulfillment of her mother’s curse upon her children.

  * * *

  I washed and dressed on my return to the palace. A sip from the flask every now and again kept the worst of the burning at bay. A day passed, then two. My supply dwindled.

  I knew I could not return to the pool before the coronation, but I could not wait any longer to be king.

  Grandmother Marwyn was right. I could see so clearly now. Soon the rest would, too.

  I decanted the wine and added a few drops from my flask.

  “They will support me.” I knew anyone that drank of my grandmother’s pool would, and yet—

  I summoned a page. “Send word that I wish to meet with the councilors.”

  The lad looked confused. “They are with your mother even now, my lord.”

  Anger ground my teeth against one another, but I could not let them see it. Not until they were free of her influence.

  “Bring the wine and follow me then,” I instructed.

  I made my way to the council hall where the learned of my kingdom were gathered. My mother stood before them, placid and dour.

  “You all look as though someone has died,” I said.

  No one laughed. One man stood. I couldn’t remember his name.

  “My prince, your mother is concerned, as many of us are, about your well-being.”

  The page placed the tray on the table with just enough force to rattle the glasses against each other.

  “I am perfectly fit, as you can see.”

  “What we see is not a defect of form, but of mind—” another chimed in.

  “Nonsense,” I replied, struggling to smile. I poured a glass for each of the dozen or so men and women seated at the table. I handed the tray back to the page, indicating he should distribute them. “I was shaken by a revelation, and it was quickly followed by my own blundering in the woods. It took me longer to sort out the truth from my own little tumble.”

  I laughed. None laughed with me.

  “Please, join me in a salute, to my father’s memory.” I raised my glass. They followed suit, though with hesitancy. The page placed a glass before my mother, but she made no move to take it. As was her wont, my mother said nothing and stood motionless, cold, waiting.

  “To the mercy of Prince Ross.” I took a gulping draft that quenched only the tiniest sparks of the heat within.

  They echoed and drank. A few spit it out upon tasting it. One or two others did not even touch it.

  “What is this?”

  “How dare you try to—”

  “Poison! Treason!”

  But despite the cries from those who could not abide the taste of truth, those who had swallowed the draft became aware. They blinked and looked about them as though they had never been cognizant of their surroundings before.

  They looked to me and then to my mother. One by one they came and stood at my side.

  “Your power here is broken,” I said.

  “You drank,” she began, then choked back a sob. “After all my warnings.”

  “I am free of your lies.”

  Those who had not swallowed also rose, but went to stand beside my mother.

  “You will not be crowned while you ramble in madness,” one of my mother’s champions spoke up. “It has already been decided.”

  “You tricked us, persuaded us to deny Prince Bertram his right while we were under her spell,” called one of those with me.

  Soon everyone was speaking back and forth. A few approached each other and I was certain it would come to blows. I drew my sword and the room went silent.

  “You cannot deny my ascension without making war. Arrest Snow White,” I commanded my loyalists. No one moved. “I said arrest her. She is a danger to this council and to our people. She must be held until we can decide a fitting punishment.”

  At once two guards strode forward, not to take hold of my mother, but to disarm me.

  I raged. “You dare approach your king? You think me feeble and tender because I have the complexion of the woman that bore me? Come then, I’ll show you the strength of your king.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Bertram engaged his own soldiers in single combat, and though his court cried out for him to stop, he would not hear even those who stood loyal to him. His years of practice showed in his skill as he wounded one man and pressed the other.

  Seeing her son slip deeper into the darkness of Marwyn’s curse, Snow fled, hoping he would pursue. She used the mirror, which she had kept with her since he had tried to smash it, to lead her to the one place that perhaps this wickedness could be undone.

  Bertram proclaimed, “See how she flees justice,” and bounded after her. The servants tried to stand in his way, but one glance at his flashing sword and they scrambled aside.

  He chased her beyond the palace walls, determined to capture her at first, but as his quarry eluded him, his intentions became less and less his own. Bertram became more enraged with every step, shouting his vitriol and her betrayal to the skies. The forest came to Snow’s defense as it had before, hindering his progress. Roots of good trees rose to trip him, and stinging nettles tore at his ankles. Birds brought beak and talon to bear on his face and arms. Blinded by these obstacles and his consuming fury, the prince did not see where she led him.

  * * *

  How had we come here? I stood by the pool’s edge, my sword in my hand.

  My mother stood on the opposite side. The mirror, the one my grandmother had used to find her, was clutched in her hand.

  I heard myself screaming. “I won’t let you hurt anyone else, you selfish brat.”

  I sounded deranged. Spittle, in white flecks, collected on my lips. The maddening heat flared again, radiating up through the soles of my feet. I took one step into the water, then another, not sinking below the surface, but striding across it like my grandmother had. I was wrapped in the certainty that only the death of Snow White would bring the relief I sought. It was the only justice for the things she had done.

  Justice. I blinked and tried to stop, but my feet, still burning, were not my own. I strode across the water with a dark purpose I did not feel. I balked.

  Could I truly kill my own mother? Hadn’t she tortured hers?

  Would that make me no better than my father? She is the one who deserves it.

  Snow waited across the water. So still.

  I gripped my sword before me, poised to strike. She was only steps away from me now. But I couldn’t take them.

  A wave of self-loathing washed over me. Disgusting. Weak.

  Her composure made my frayed consciousness all the more tangled. It wasn’t fair. I felt a seething rage at her perfectly statuesque indifference.

  “Say something!”

  She held up the mirror to her face.

  “Mirror, mirror, in my hand, show the truth as I command.” She turned the mirror around so that I saw my own face reflected in it. I was withered with fever and fatigue. I wondered when I had last eaten and couldn’t remember. More shocking still, I did not stand on the surface of a clear spring, but rather atop a pool of blood. Bile rose in the back of my throat, but the true taste of what I had swallowed lingered on my tongue. My sword fell from my trembling hands as I gagged on my own revulsion.

  I stumbled to my mother’s side, and skidded away from the pool’s edge until my back came against a tree trunk.

  The spirit of my gr
andmother rose from the pool as she had before, but now her eyes burned. The cloud of mist that once obscured her feet had vanished. She wore the slippers of iron that had been her death, and they still glowed red.

  Marwyn did not smile. She did not look at me with the concern of days before. Only disdain.

  “You mewling little fool. She must be destroyed.”

  “I won’t do that,” I said. The very idea horrified me, and I remembered my horse. Even that act of mercy, needful as it was, had left me shaking and pained.

  “You’re pathetic.” Marwyn’s voice seethed. “More worthless than your soft-headed mother.”

  My mother knelt next to me and laid a hand on my shoulder as she so often did. It did not burn. I looked into her eyes. Compassion and fear mingled in her face.

  “I can’t do this,” I said again.

  “I know,” she replied.

  “No, I can’t be king. I’m not strong like Father, and the people will hate me.” My fears poured out of me, down my cheeks, and into the tainted pool.

  The queen’s tirade never ceased. “Stop your whimpering, you little worm!”

  But I couldn’t. The illusion that all I had to do was be like my father had been shattered the day I read the truth, and now the realization crashed over me that no matter how I tried, I could never be a king like him.

  My mother pulled me to her, and I wept as I had not done since before he died. Waves of loss washed over and through me.

  Marwyn’s screams became merely a swirl of unintelligible noise, drowned out by my sobs.

  At last I was left with nothing but a hiccup or two, and I looked up.

  Where there had once been a pool, full of the bitter essence that was Queen Marwyn, now there was a dry pit, crusted in salt, with a pair of iron shoes sitting at the bottom.

  My mother’s arms stayed wrapped around me. “She told you I was dangerous?”

  I nodded.

  “And she believed it.”

  I looked at her, astonished.

  “Like me, like you, she could bring anyone she wished under her sway. She was beloved by her people, but when she realized that I, too, could lead with just a gentle command, she felt her hold on those around her slip. She grew more and more desperate. More deranged.”